My Design
by skullgirllove
Summary: Done for a prompt by mixyblue. Willow Graham is a stripper and Hannibal Lecter is an FBI profiler (and not a cannibal) who becomes infatuated with her.
1. Chapter 1

Willow Graham blinked against the harsh florescent lights, tentatively stepping out onto the stage. She wished she was wearing her glasses but Hobbes hadn't let her. Her contact lenses hurt her eyes but if she didn't wear them she would probably fall of the stage, knowing her luck. Holding back a sigh she parted her lips, and slightly closed her eyes, which gave her a sultry, she thought fairly stupid, look. As she began to move in a manner that had become second nature she glanced out over the crowd, careful to avoid eye contact. It was the usual Saturday night crowd, sweaty, anxious men in business suits, conspicuously slipping their wedding rings into their pockets, rowdy, sometimes handsy, college kids, a couples guys having a bachelor's party.

As she glanced over to a chair in the corner she noticed a man who didn't look like the others. He was older, probably in his late thirties or early forties, impeccably dressed in a grey, pinstriped, suit. He didn't radiate the same sleazy aura the other men did in fact he looked, frankly bored. Willow normal wouldn't care but this guy had been coming here practically ever weekend for the past few months and always looked directly at her. Tonight was no different; she could feel his dark eyes on her the whole time she "danced" and before he left he came over and handed her nearly 500 dollar in 50's and 20's. The first time he had done so her jaw had dropped, never having had someone hand her that much money at one time before. Now she had come to expect it but nonetheless found the whole thing rather odd.

"Why the hell does he always give you so much?" One of the girls snapped when they were getting dressed later that night. "I've been trying to get his attention for weeks and look!" She held out a single 20-dollar bill. Willow shrugged awkwardly and tried to move away but the other girls had heard joined in the conversation too.

"She's not even pretty!"

"I've got better tit's than that!"

"What's he thinking?"

By the time Willow got away her already low self-confidence was in the toilet. She had never thought of herself as particularly attractive and apparently neither did her co-workers. At times like this she usually went home, ate a tub of ice cream, cuddled her dog and watched sad movies on TV but not this time. This time she got angry. Pissed off actually. It was an anger that stayed through the week, and by the time Saturday night rolled around she was just about ready to explode. Unsurprisingly when she peaked out through the curtain she saw the well dressed man sitting in his usual spot looking like he'd rather be anywhere else than there. Fuming, Willow made her way out on stage and began her normal routine, very aware of the man's eyes following her movements the whole time. She purposefully stuck around after her number and wandered through the crowd instead of heading straight back to her dressing room. There was more money in it this way but the guys creeped her out. Their thoughts were too loud and too crude for her to deal with.

_There's the one with the great tit's. _She heard froma middle-aged history teacher. _If I had her here right now I'd love to spread her legs and- _shuddering she quickly moved along.

_Hey Honey, come on over here and I'll show you how a real man is in bed. You'd be screaming my name for hours. _

_ She's probably hot bend over a table. I bet she's a screamer._

Finally she made it over to where the well-dressed man was sitting. She glanced up briefly to see if he was watching her, which he was. As she drew nearer he handed her enough money to buy her groceries for two weeks.

"I've never seen you walk through the crowd before tonight." He said. "What changed?" He had an accent, one Willow couldn't quite identify. It sounded vaguely European, one of those countries with five syllables in the name.

"What's you deal?" Willow snapped, all the anger from the week being released. You've come here every weekend for the last four months and you always look at me! You don't even like me!"

The man blinks at her, as though he has no idea what she's talking about.

"Oh don't give me that look." Willow says in exacerbation. "I've seen you sitting here. You look bored to tears. What kind of game are you playing?" The man laughs at that, a rich baritone laugh that Willow hadn't been expecting.

"I'm afraid, Miss, that you misunderstand the situation entirely." He said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I was feeling restless one night and wanted a distraction from personal matters. I wandered in here and you; my dear, caught my eye right away. I've never had someone fascinate me the way you do, or cheer me up so quickly." He shrugged. "I find you very interesting and wished only to repay you for giving me something to take my mind off my work."

Willow went from feeling angry to embarrassed, especially once she remember just how scantily clad she was in comparison to this man's three-piece suit. As hard as she tried she could hear this man's thoughts. He was as silent as the grave, no lecherous thoughts, no crude fantasies of what he like to do to her. She was beginning to suspect he was telling the truth. Which was actually pretty flattering, if idiotic.

Without thinking she reached out and cupped his chin in her hand and gave him a sad smile.

"Thanks." She said shortly, and tucking the money into her shirt she made her way out of the fray.


	2. Chapter 2

The same pattern continued for several more weekends and after a while Willow had amassed enough money so that she didn't have to eat ramen noodles every night. When it got to the point where she could buy herself a new dress, a new chew toy for Winston and pay all her bills with money to spare she started to feel guilty. Willow had always felt emotions more deeply than most and this was no different. The guilt gnawed at her all through the week and when the weekend rolled around it was practically unbearable. Still she forced herself to get onstage and perform her routine. Unsurprisingly the well-dressed man (she still didn't know his name) was in the audience. She he came a bit closer to him he extended his hand, attempting to hand her a 20-dollar bill. Willow quickly shook her head and pushed his hand back.

"Thank you." She said voice on the verge of cracking. "I don't mean to be ungrateful, I appreciate this but I just can't." Turning so she didn't see the puzzled look in his eyes Willow quickly made her way offstage.

She'd expected Hobbes to be mad and she had been half expecting it when she felt his fist collide with her face sometime later when they were all packing up. She yelped at the pain, clutching her throbbing eye.

"What was that all about?" Hobbes demanded. "Leaving early, right in the middle of a performance." The other girls stop to watch, a few obviously taking joy from Willow's misfortune.

"I'm sorry." Willow began. "I just-."

"Forget it." Hobbes snapped, picking up her purse and throwing it at her. "You're done for the rest of the weekend."

"What?" Willow asked franticly. "No please what am I supposed to do for money?"

"You should have thought of that before." He sneered. "Now get out."

Sobbing quietly to herself Willow made her way out to her car. What was wrong with her, why couldn't she just take the money? Now she was out of work for a week just when she was finally starting to get back on her feet. Snuffling she fumbled in her bag for her car keys.

"What's upsetting you?" With a squeak Willow whirled around, grabbing a knife from the front corner of her bag and pointing it at whoever snuck up behind her. She'd had plenty of people try to follow her home in the past and after a while she began carrying a knife for protection.

"Don't you come closer!" she demanded, the hand holding the knife shaking slightly.

"I hadn't planned on it." The surprised man said, hands raised in the air. Willow lowered the weapon slightly. She recognized that voice, it was the well-dressed guy with the heavy accent, the one she had refused to take money from.

"What do you want?" she asked, trying and failing to sound tough.

"I was curious why you didn't want my money." Willow shrugged anxiously.

"I don't feel right always taking so much money from you."

"You're doing a job." The man said. "It's not charity. You have every right to it."

"Yeah, well," Willow said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

"What is it that made you so upset?" She frowned.

"I'm out of work for the rest of the weekend. My boss got mad at me for not finishing the number."

"Oh I'm so sorry." The man said, sounding genuinely concerned.

"'S not your fault."

"I disagree." The man said. "If it hadn't have been for me you wouldn't have left early." Willow shook her head.

"No you couldn't have known. I was just acting crazy."

"Nevertheless I feel guilty about it. I would very much like to make it up to you." Willow gave him a suspicious look.

"What did you have in mind exactly?"

"Dinner perhaps?" He suggested. "Tomorrow night?" Willow blinked at him.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"If that's how you want to see it." Willow still looked reluctant.

"If you want you can drive yourself and we can meet in a public place." Willow gave him a quick once over. He wasn't bad looking, and he seemed nice enough, much nicer than the rest of the men who came to places like this anyways. And it wasn't like she had anything better to do other than watch TV and walk Winston.

"Sure." She said at last. "Why not?" A grin crossed the man's face, an expression she hadn't seen on him before.

"Wonderful!" he said. "Do you have a pen? I can write down the address." Willow responded that she did and once the plan was established the man bid her farewell and turned to go.

"Wait!" Willow called after him. "What's your name?" The man smiled ever so slightly and handed her a business card. She glanced at it as he made his way to his own car. Agent Hannibal Lecter, FBI.


End file.
